The Wife of Potifar
by Third Person Point of View
Summary: OneShot. Romanceish. Pairings: Dx01, Dx02, Dx04, Dx05, but main driving force is Dx03. There is a reason why this is called the wife of Potifar and I encourage you to look it up after you read the story. Please read and review.


The Wife of Potifer

It was a surprisingly simple objective. Something she wanted, pined for desperately. The completion was something less simple, something more devious to plan. But in her sick and twisted mind, she had no barriers, no lines she wasn't willing to cross. In truth, it was only a matter of how long she was willing to wait, how much effort she was willing to pour into her endeavor.

Dorothy Catalonia was never one to fall short on a goal. She was never one to turn away and recede in defeat or shame. It was a suddenly convenient and easy world when you plucked your conscience out of yourself and flung it into the dark abyss of hell.

Dorothy was always best at plotting, it was her joy and skill in life. A talent that many lacked and yearned for and one she didn't take for granted. She savored the feeling of unequaled, uncontained joy that surged through her bones and blood as she sat and thought through the scenarios, the schemes and lies she would have to put on. Nothing more than another coat to throw over her shoulders when the stiff winter breeze rolled around.

Once she had seen it all in her minds eye, seen victory in theory, her mouth watered for the reality of it all. To feel the upsurge of absolute and utter control. The control that came hand in hand with power, domination over a soul. To be able to twist them as her hands wished, like a puppet master to his doll.

She would crush the Gundam pilots.

Many would've thought the plan insane, stupid after all these years of peace. The Gundams were heroes to many, saviors to more, god to most…

Perhaps… but Dorothy had always been about power and they were the highest form she knew of. They had single handedly dismantled Oz. They had overthrown Mr. Treize. They had reduced Mr. Milliardo to nothing but a mere mortal.

But they… Oh yes, they were so much more than mortal. They were untouchable, unbreakable. And she would find a way to break them. Break them all. It would be nothing if this wasn't done as a whole. And the best way to break a whole is to attack each individual.

Dorothy had many weapons in her arsenal. She had a sharp tongue, a quick hand, a steady heart, an unmovable will…

But this took a totally different course. This could be pulled off with her most dangerous weapon of all.

Duo Maxwell was, by far, the easiest. He was the most tormented of all the angels, plagued by the most ferocious of demons. It took nothing more than a few sensual whispers into sad, drunken ears to bring him down. She played, tugging at his vulnerable heart-strings. A deep sense of sadness overwhelmed the air around him. His eyes were deep, drowning pools of emotion, of hurt, of pain and regret.

It was the simplest thing in the world to offer an escape, to offer peace of mind, even if it was temporary. A subtle touch to the thigh, a thick, heady, urgent breath on the nape of the neck and it was over. It was the most amazing feeling to have him buckle under her force. To watch as he gasped her name, letting the sound slip carelessly through his lips. The most amazing thrill of pleasure as she saw his eyes fade, resist, then comply under her willful and overpowering gaze.

Most would've thought that Heero Yuy would be the most difficult of all the pilots to bring down, to have succumb to her will and kneeling at her feet. But she knew it was only a matter of what strings to pull, what words to say and he was easy in a different way.

Heero was tired of fighting, so tired of having the weight of the world on his shoulders. This was the delicious moment she had been waiting for, the succulent taste of surrender swirling around in her mouth. She couldn't stop the evil grin of victory from spreading across her face as he let her push herself on top of him and overtake him.

Wufei Chang was about fuel. She had seen the passion that flowed potently through his veins. Passion was a catalyst for more aggressive, more dangerous responses. And she knew exactly what to use to prod the fire ebbing behind his eyes. Jealousy worked perfectly for this case.

Dorothy had seen the attachment to Sally Po. Even when his brain ticked back reasons to not believe her, even when his eyes doubted the claims of another person, when she mentioned the fact that he'd never made a declaration of his own for her, had never stated his affection out loud for her, his eyes drooped, pooled with pain and regret.

Yes, she'd judged well. It seemed that is was more than admiration, more than affection that held Wufei to Sally. She was his only remaining thread of sanity, of normalcy. It was hard to act on feelings when you are afraid of losing the only thing keeping you alive. But passion distorts your vision, makes you act rashly.

After it was all over, reason fell upon him hard, weighing down his shoulders, making him strain under the immense pressure of what he had just done. The conquest was not during the act, but after, which was almost more pleasurable, she decided. Now she could take it all in, no distractions. He would not even look at her as she put her clothes back on and disappeared.

With Trowa Barton, it wasn't about what she said, what tone she used, it was about the actions she took. It was as easy as walking over to him and kissing him. She measured the pressure of her lips on his, measured how long until she parted her mouth and flicked her tongue out to catch his. She was offering something to feel. Trowa had been numb for so long. Now she was giving him the chance to feel, feeling something, anything at all.

But then, something unexpected happened. An unseen annoyance, a hitch in her plan that gave her reason to fear that, after all this work, she wouldn't be able to complete her plot.

But "no" was not part of Dorothy Catalonia's vocabulary, not part of her reasoning. After a great deal of thought, perhaps this was the best thing to have happened. Because, talented as she was, she knew that Quatre Rebarbra Winner was her only true match of wits. This was the prize she yearned for, the one she wanted to down. But she hadn't been able to get a lock on him. Quatre had simply disappeared, been cleansed of this earth. But now, now that she had the cards in her hands, the guilt, the ability to force a shotgun wedding from Trowa, his best friend. He would not deny his fellow Gundam what he asked.

About ten months later, Dorothy made her way smugly down the isle, her child cradled carefully in the arms of his aunt. A thrill of excitement ran shivers down her spine as her eyes caught and held the gleam of the golden halo. The pale blond standing beside Trowa met her gaze steadily.

Quatre was a man of morals, a man of resolve, which was why people were mistaken when they thought he was the weakest of the pilots, the easiest to defeat. He was the challenge, the unseen, unattainable challenge. Her target. Her heart raced in anticipation at the coming fight for her prize.

His eyes held traces of pain as he looked at her, glowing in her white, simple dress. He was anguished, pained at the sight of her as she made her way to stand beside his brother and promise herself to his name. She could not deny that there had been a connection to Quatre from the very second their brains had meshed across space with the dolls system. The connection fizzled between them now, through Trowa, through the child of sin that was now proclaimed as Quatre's godson, it crackled visibly in the air. His eyes gave her hope, more than she had dared to place in herself.

With that, she would _make_ this work.

He disappeared once more after the wedding and she and Trowa lived in a cold and understood harmony, not bothering to pretend anything else. The child grew, his pull on the golden angel becoming stronger and Dorothy knew that Quatre could not ignore it, wouldn't abandon the boy as he desperately wanted to. Six months later he came, giving her the same look as he entered the house. She waited patiently three nights and then stole into his room late at night.

He had been conveniently roomed in what used to be the basement and she converted into the guest apartment. Far away from the listening and attentive ears upstairs. He was not sleeping, he was waiting for her as she knew he would be.

"Mr. Winner," she said in her husky, privileged voice.

"Dorothy," Quatre replied, not bothering to turn. "What took you so long?"

She let a small smile curve the ends of her lips. No need for pretenses then.

"I've been measuring my time as you well know," she responded, walking towards him. She reached out and slowly spun him around so that he had to look her in the face. This conquest, this look of surrender she would not be deprived of.

"Do you even care about the boy? Your child?" he asked softly, looking straight into her eyes. He didn't bother to allow her a response. "No. Of course not. He's just as unimportant as Trowa… or any of the others."

Dorothy said nothing, just smiled enchantingly. The air between them sparked, alive. She reached up and let her delicate fingers entangle themselves in his golden locks. She gripped them tight, pulling herself closer and leaning up, so close they could no longer see each other clearly. Her lips were at his ear, pouring in thick, inescapable words of seduction.

"Sleep with me, Quatre," she said bluntly, knowing there was nothing else to say.

She brought her lips to his in a soft, enticing kiss. His mouth did not move. His arms did not encircle her. His body did not bend to her. Neither did his mind. She pulled back a fraction, not disentangling them, but far enough to look him in the eyes. There, held in them was that pained expression.

And she saw she had misread. The pain was not his pining for her. It was a different pain. A longing for her to become what he knew she could, but refused to. Pain for his best friend. Pain for the unwanted, used child. Pain for the weakness all the others had succumb to.

"No," he said just as softly.

She backtracked desperately, looking for the words that would break him.

"You can't deny this. You can't tell me you don't feel this. Take me, Quatre. Ease your pain and mine. Finish what we began so long ago on Libra. Finish me Quatre."

"No," he repeated, just as softly.

She pulled away from his with a hiss of disdain slipping through her teeth. Like a lightning strike she pulled open one of the dresser drawers and pulled out a gun. She cocked it, then flipped it to him. He caught it neatly in his hands.

"Kill me now, Quatre. Do what your heart wants so fervently to do," she taunted, teased. She would break him. She _would_ win this battle, crush them forever. No matter what it took. She let the smile ooze out to the corners of her mouth, toying with him. She closed her eyes, spreading her arms wide.

"Kill me, Quatre."

There was a long moment while the air between them popped and crackled. Then there was a soft click, a dull thud on the luxurious cream carpet. He made no noise as he closed the gap between them, nothing giving away how close he was except for the sudden, soft voice in her ear.

"No," he said once again.

Her eyes snapped open, flaring and angry. She couldn't lose. Not now, not after everything she had poured into this.

His face was parallel to hers. From the corner of her eye, she could see his own green, sparkling eyes. The heat radiated from his body and burned her painfully. She wanted to scream, to force him, but she was frozen under this sudden spell he had her under.

"Crush yourself under this weight, Dorothy," he whispered in her ear. "You failed."

He walked away from her then and she heard the door open at the same time her eyes landed on the unloaded gun, missing its cartage. She whipped around, her blond cascading hair swirling around her.

"If you won't do it, Quatre, give me the bullets and let me," she hissed.

He didn't bother to turn, the cartridge pressed firmly in his hand. "Will you surrender to yourself like that Dorothy? I thought you better than that."

Her hand withered to her side again as the words took hold of her heart. Yes, he had hit her hard. She couldn't back away like that, like a coward. Quatre stepped out of the room and shut the door, disappearing again.

Dorothy, hatred spewing from her eyes threw her head back and screamed.


End file.
